


Catharsis

by ice_evanesco, OrphanText



Category: The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Tragedy, mentions of non con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1448041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ice_evanesco/pseuds/ice_evanesco, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrphanText/pseuds/OrphanText
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worth of our words only hold meaning in this very second, and is dust in the next. But for this second, this very second, all I say is true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catharsis

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Catharsis 净化](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1751030) by [alucard1771](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alucard1771/pseuds/alucard1771)



> Inspired by the many many many fantastic and delightful (and heart rending) fan arts of Dmitri that we came across on Tumblr. Please do send more on our way if you see any.

Dearest Gustave,

I know I punched you, but I could not help myself. The sight of your face ignites the fiercest passions in me. It reminds me irrevocably of the time I found you with my mother.

That secret smile on your face as you spoke to her, that wizened old witch, the way she pawed at you- I could never bear it.

That society dictates it more appropriate, more acceptable that you are hers, than mine... I cannot bear the way you look at me so longingly and then turn that smile to her.

Accept my deepest apologies,

Ever yours,  
Dimitri.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gustave, My Heart,

I hate that mother willed you that painting. I know how she is, spiteful to the end, determined, as always to drive the wedge between us and keep you for herself.

Does that painting remind you of anything more than just the money you will have, the fortune that you have inherited?

Does it, perhaps, remind you of the time you saw me, scrawny as I was, a pale shadow of a teenager, following behind my mother (that domineering witch!)?

That time you offered me an apple, and I fell willingly into sin with you. I fell in love, you, the only person who has ever looked to me and saw a human.

Not a pawn, not a chess piece to be played between warring parents. A human being, with as much right to be individual, to be heard, seen, and yes, loved, and touched.

Gustave, why would you have stolen the painting and fled? Did you think I would not have yielded it (and myself) to you? The anger was real, but all else, the words, the hate, that was all play. Did you not recognise our secret signals?

My hand is forced against you, and I hope you will forgive me.

In love,  
Dimitri.

 

* * *

 

 

Cherished Gustave,

It spins furthermore out of my control.

I have news that you now languish in prison, and I know how you must suffer. Without the proper amenities, how would you indulge yourself?

And you are so fond of your scents and shampoos and soap. I have never met anyone, man or woman, more vain than yourself.

I remember so vividly how you became my valet for my stay in the hotel. Second, perhaps, maybe third or fourth. The occasion escapes me, my mother visits every season, so fond is she of you.

And she is so incompatible, so old, made of brittle bones and sagging flesh. How can she look at herself in the mirror and ever think herself worthy of you?

The memories of you as my manservant are bright in my mind, the evenings where you draw the warm baths for me, caring for me like anyone has hardly done since my childhood.

The way you enticed me with just a smile, to shed my clothes and pretences, to give myself over to you. I dream of those brief, bright moments still.

I can feel your hands upon my skin, caressing, removing the hatred and despise of my mother, purifying me. And your mouth upon mine, that kiss stolen as I dozed in the bath.

Gustave, I beg you to bear with this indignity. There must be some way out of this wretched mess.

Yours,  
Dimitri.

 

* * *

 

 

Gustave,

You must flee. I will explain as soon as I can.

Dimitri

 

* * *

 

 

Gustave,

It has spiralled out of my control.

I never knew Jopling was such a dangerous man, I hired him only to rid myself of that screeching harpy of a mother. I thought I could pay him off, but he blackmails me, and demands more and more.

I am ruined, Gustave. He is the blight of my life. I rid myself of a nuisance to bring in an insidious evil.

He is determined to cover every trace of his crime, and use me as his puppet.

I am fouled by him, the things he has done to this body- I am ashamed to even hint this much.

I beg of you, my dearest, please stay safe, that your continued existence might give me the courage to continue this penitent suffering.

Dimitri.

 

* * *

 

 

Gustave, my light,

Seeing you today has almost undone me.

Now you see what I have become. A lord, reduced to the slave of a blackmailing assassin, forced to join his twisted cause.

You have seen the symbol of this burgeoning fascist empire upon my arm, have you not? I am not evil, I am cornered.

My body is covered with his markings, and I can't look at myself any longer. He comes into my room and ruins me, over and over.

Gustave I am desperate for any sign of your forgiveness, for if I don't receive it I will go mad.

I am bruised, and broken, but if you forgive me I may begin to heal.

Dimitri

 

* * *

 

 

Gustave,

I am rid of Jopling at last, and it is all thanks to you. When you revealed the truth, I lost everything, and he sees no more use for me.

Images that he took of me, beaten, bare and unconscious have been distributed to the most reputable families. I know you may have received some copies.

It has made it impossible for me to remain in my homeland any longer, to be in a whirlwind of scandal.

It has made it impossible for me to ever look at you in the eye.

It is impossible that I ever think of myself as being deserving of your love, or even of loving you.

I will make my way to England, and with any luck, I will be able to begin a new life.

Dimitri.

 

* * *

 

 

Gustave,

This is the last letter I will ever write to you. We have been ill-favored by fate. On your way to see me you met your untimely death.

Perhaps this is the price to pay, some curse my mother has laid upon me. That I may never find my love. That my love will always be torn away from me, first by my mother, next by death.

That some commoner, some filthy farm boy, some puppet of that sick regime I narrowly escaped could be the cause of your death is unconscionable.

I have lost all faith in any higher power, for I have suffered, and suffered, and suffered, for no redemption, no forgiveness.

Gustave, I hope you will remember me. Keep my image in your soul that I might find you upon my own death.

I will join you soon, there is no more reason for me to stay here whilst you are gone.

Dimitri.

 

* * *

 

 

"Darling Gustave,

I am blessed beyond all belief. Laying here in your arms has made me heal. I am able to love, to rejoice, to be.

All of the pains of the past seem barely existent. I have nothing that I crave, I am content." Dimitri whispered, smiling. The eighteen year old kissed the palm of his lover's large hand as Gustave turned to smile in an amused manner at him.

"You compose prose beautifully." Gustave murmured. "Promise me you will write me letters, filled with the beauty of your talent."

"I promise." Dimitri looked up, then kissed the lips of the concierge.


End file.
